Dragon's Code

by Gigi McCaffrey

  “Ama,” he whispered under his breath, and smiled. He knew that he could carry on as life demanded, and although the grief he felt was still sharp and raw, Piemur wrote a message and sent Farli to Fort Weyr to deliver it.

  He was surprised, later that afternoon, when Ais sought him out as he was stacking fresh-cut wood, to say a dragon had flown in and a tall dragonrider was waiting for him near the lake. He hadn’t thought his message would be answered so quickly. Striding behind Ais, Piemur could see N’ton seated on Lioth’s forelegs, waiting patiently.

  “N’ton!” Piemur called. “My thanks! I wasn’t expecting such a quick response to my message.” It was good to see his friend again.

  “It’s my pleasure, Piemur,” N’ton said. “I’d gone too long without sampling your particular blend of humor. Lioth missed you, too.” He smiled, his light-blue eyes full of warmth as he clasped Piemur’s hand in greeting.

  After Piemur went back to the little cothold to gather up his few belongings, he felt a pang of grief as he bade farewell to his family. He knew he was leaving behind him something much more than just family and friends; several large pieces of his heart would always remain in this little cothold in Crom.

  He had said his goodbyes and was walking toward the lake to join N’ton when Pergamol waved for him to stop. “Piemur! Piemur, wait!” He turned back and closed the gap to the burly herdsman, suddenly feeling that his heart might burst again with emotion.

  “I know we’ve already said goodbye, Pie,” Pergamol said slowly, “but remember something for me.

  “Even though your young voice left you, there’s naught to be ashamed about the one that came in its place. I know that was a hard thing for you to do, Piemur, to sing when you were so unsure of your voice, but I’m glad you did it. For Ama.” Pergamol’s chin quivered slightly as he looked down at Piemur. “Ama would’ve been very proud of you. You stepped up to the mark when you were needed, and I want you to know that I’m proud of you, too, Pie.”

  Then the burly, affable herder opened his arms wide, saying softly, “Don’t stay away too long this time, auld son.”

  Unable to trust his voice, Piemur could only mumble the words “Thank you” before he stepped into the older man’s bearlike embrace.

  After Lioth had lifted off the ground and was wheeling above Pergamol’s cothold one last time before flying between, Piemur looked down at his kinsmen and kinswomen as they stood waving goodbye. He felt that he was very different now from the Piemur who had arrived in the cothold such a short time ago, seeking help for Sebell. As Ama’s influence on his life had been cleaved from him with her death, Piemur felt that something else had left him, too. And with a sudden jolt of recognition, he no longer felt that old sense of regret about losing his young singing voice; he could live without that voice, and he could make use of the one he had grown into. He smiled then, thinking back to how his voice had sounded when he sang for Ama. To his practiced ear, it wasn’t half bad at all!

  * * *

  —

  When Piemur returned to the Harper Hall, the Masterharper seemed his usual amiable self as they greeted each other, but Piemur thought that beyond the façade, Robinton looked distracted and, perhaps, a little sad. Sebell joined them, looking well recovered from his injuries and none the worse for his ordeal.

  “I was so sorry to learn that your foster mother died, Piemur,” Robinton said. “It is one of the most difficult things of all to bear—the loss of one’s mother. They become such a constant part of who we are.” The Masterharper drew in a deep breath and sighed.

  “Much has happened since you left the Hall. At Ista, poor Fanna’s condition has grown worse. It won’t be long now before she dies and her queen flies between. Since D’ram stepped down as Weyrleader with Fanna so ill, Ista will soon have to find a new Weyrleader and a Weyrwoman. I’m always ill at ease when a Weyr is without its leaders, no matter how temporary, or how able-bodied the wingseconds are at filling the gap in leadership.” Robinton rubbed a hand distractedly across the back of his neck.

  “Ista has more than one queen, though. Do we know if any of them are ready to make a mating flight?” Sebell asked.

  “I’m told Caylith will most likely be the first queen to take flight.”

  “Does Benden think her a good choice for the Weyr?” Piemur asked.

  “I couldn’t say,” the Master replied, his tone abrupt, almost flat. That told Piemur there was still some discord between the Harper Hall and Benden Weyr, and he knew from Sebell’s expression that he was right. It was a huge pity, Piemur reflected, looking down at his hands; allies such as Benden Weyr and the Harper Hall had to remain in accord. Lessa hadn’t appreciated Robinton’s insistence that revenge was the wrong road to take. It could only be hoped that Lessa would relent and see reason, once the rest of Ramoth’s clutch hatched and Impressed, and life in the Weyr got back to normal.

  “So, my Piemur,” Robinton said.

  A jolt of emotion ran through Piemur when he heard Ama’s possessive name for him issue from his Master’s mouth. Robinton carried on, unaware of how his particular choice of words had affected Piemur.

  “I’d hazard a guess that your dislike of Nabol is more firmly fixed in place now than ever before. Such a pity: That province does have its merits, though they’re often hard to perceive.” The Masterharper looked fixedly at Piemur, but then his eyes softened and he smiled.

  “Tell me, Piemur, are you quite recovered from your ordeal in Nabol?” The Master’s tone was gentle as he searched Piemur’s face, and Piemur nodded, grateful for such sensitivity. “You should take time for your own pursuits. Don’t feel the need to rush off anywhere on harper business. You’re always welcome here at the Hall, you know.”

  “Thank you, Master, your offer is more than generous, but I want to go back to the Southern Continent,” he replied, squaring his shoulders. He hoped the Masterharper wouldn’t push the invitation to stay on at the Hall; it wasn’t that he was still uncomfortable around so much musicality but more an inexplicable urge to find what else he could do besides singing—what might inspire a new feeling of passion in him.

  Piemur felt he’d turned some invisible corner in his life, and everything he’d been and done before was far behind him. From the moment he’d returned to Fort, he’d had an urge to be out in the open, wanting nothing more than to fly south, where he knew he would feel at ease. It was as if something inexplicable was pulling him back to the Southern Continent, and he could not ignore the subtle tugging.

  “Ah, very well, Piemur,” Robinton said, looking a little confused at Piemur’s decision. “There’s plenty more land to map in the south, of course, probably far more than we can imagine. Map as you go, lad, and send your sketches back here as often as you can.”

  “Thank you, Master Robinton,” Piemur said, his tone solemn, as he inclined his upper body in deference to the older man. It had been ages since he’d observed such gestures, and Piemur realized that his relationship with Robinton had also undergone a change of which he had only now become aware. As he straightened his body and looked his Master in the eye, he saw that Robinton acknowledged their new footing, too.

  “Go on, then, young man, and bring back something of interest,” Robinton said lightly, his voice rising to stress the last word.

  * * *

  —

  Piemur only stayed at the Harper Hall for that day, arranging with N’ton to return to the Southern Continent as soon as the dragonrider could spare the time to take him.

  It was late at night in the Southern Hold compound when Lioth touched down on the sun-warmed ground and Piemur heard N’ton exhale a long sigh.

  “As much as I love being Weyrleader in Fort, I do like coming here to Southern,” N’ton said. He turned to look at Piemur as they both unclipped their tethers from the flying harness.

  “I used to think I didn’t like it here, N’
ton, but it feels more like home than anywhere else,” Piemur replied, then he chuckled. “I know I wouldn’t have felt this way a Turn ago. I guess I’ve grown accustomed to life here.” He looked up at the huge southern sky above his head, saw the two moons glowing full and bright, and all the stars that sparkled, seemingly in competition with one another, as they lit up the night.

  “Do you remember all that time you and I spent mapping the stars for Fandarel? You thought we’d never see the end of it.” N’ton had pulled his flying helmet off his head, opened the clasps on his jacket, and thrown both legs over Lioth’s neck, sitting sideways on the huge dragon so his back wasn’t to his friend. He didn’t seem in any rush to get back to the Northern Continent.

  “When Fandarel first asked us to map the skies I thought he was deranged! Of course, when he explained how he planned for us to do the mapping, then I felt like a right dim-glow.”

  “You certainly were entertaining, Piemur. Remember that night you got so flustered because you thought the sky was all wrong, as you put it? Then the vellum fell out of your hand and when you picked it up again you saw that you’d been holding it upside down all along. That was a gem of a gaffe,” N’ton said, laughing.

  Piemur smiled, too, no longer embarrassed at the memory. He climbed down off Lioth’s back and stripped out of his flying gear.

  “What are you going to do next, harper?” N’ton asked.

  “I’m not sure. I know I won’t have to map this continent forever because at some point I will run out of land.” Piemur shrugged, looking up at N’ton.

  “I’ve spent so much time during the last three Turns thinking about my old voice and wishing so hard that it would come back, or that my mature voice would finally resolve and be just as good as the old one. But now it doesn’t seem to matter anymore. You know, N’ton? I sang at Ama’s ceremony.”

  The Fort Weyrleader looked surprised and quickly made one of his acrobatic dismounts off Lioth’s back to stand next to Piemur.

  “I didn’t know that, Pie. How did it go?” N’ton asked tentatively.

  “It was fine. Absolutely fine. And my mature voice isn’t bad at all. But it’s strange, N’ton, I was so positive that when my voice finally settled I’d want to use it all the time. Singing was what made me feel like I belonged at the Harper Hall, like I fit in there. Now I don’t feel that way anymore.”

  Piemur looked at N’ton, who had been quiet throughout Piemur’s revelation. The Weyrleader’s lips quirked and his arched brows shot up and down in unison before he replied.

  “You should do what you want, Pie, what feels true to you.”

  “Whatever it is, it’s got to be something more important to me—more than singing. Or mapping, or scouting, or teaching. I want it to be worthwhile.”

  As N’ton placed a reassuring hand on Piemur’s shoulder he could hear a gentle rumble rising up from Lioth’s throat.

  “My dragon says you will find what you want,” N’ton said, and then paused for a moment as Lioth said something more to his rider. Then the handsome Weyrleader chuckled, adding, “Or, he says, it will find you.”

  Later Piemur said farewell to N’ton, and bowed politely to Lioth, whose eyes sparkled blue-green in the bright, moon-filled sky. Piemur watched the pair fly up into the night and then disappear between, but long after they had gone he stood alone, scanning the nightscape above, lost in deep thoughts.

  * * *

  —

  When he rose from bed late the next morning, Piemur donned the lightweight, short leggings and sleeveless shirt he always wore in Southern. He wondered where Farli had disappeared to; she’d flitted off on her own the moment Lioth burst into the warm southern night from the flight out of Fort.

  He pushed his thoughts outward, trying to locate Farli, pressing her to answer his call. She replied lazily, broadcasting an image of her lounging in the sunshine on Stupid’s rump as the runnerbeast stood, one hip cocked, lips loose and droopy, dozing in a nearby paddock.

  “Isn’t it well for some,” Piemur muttered to himself, pleased that his little queen could fit so easily back into life in the south.

  When Piemur entered the runnerbeast compound, Stupid greeted him enthusiastically, repeatedly pushing his muzzle into the crook of Piemur’s elbow to be scratched. When Piemur had given the runnerbeast an adequate amount of attention, and Farli had picked and poked at Stupid’s hide sufficiently so that he was preened to her satisfaction, Piemur slipped a bridle over the beast’s head and slung a saddle pad on his back.

  Feeling aimless, and with no particular destination in mind, he struck out in the general direction of the sea, Farli flying in languid circles around Piemur and Stupid as they clopped along. At first Stupid moved in a lazy walk, doing as he pleased, but when a refreshing breeze blew in from the shore and roused him from his stupor, he increased his speed to a trot, his legs swinging forward at a steady pace.

  The rhythm of Stupid’s hooves on the soft sand reminded Piemur of the song he had been teaching the children at Pergamol’s cothold before Ama died. The ancient verse known as the Question Song had been handed down from Pass to Pass, generation to generation, for over four hundred Turns, and was known by every person on Pern:

  Gone away, gone ahead,

  Echoes away, die unanswered.

  Empty, open, dusty, dead,

  Why have all the weyrfolk fled?

  Now, why had he thought of the Question Song? Piemur wondered as Farli ducked and dove around his head, chirruping with excitement. He shook his head, and as Stupid’s pace continued to increase, some of his critters’ energy and excitement began to infect Piemur, too. Gathering up the reins, he squeezed his knees more firmly against the saddle pad and let his weight sink into his heels as he inclined his upper body forward, lifting his backside off the pad.

  “Go on, then, Stupid,” he said, pressing his heels into the runnerbeast’s sides. “Let it rip!”

  Without a moment of hesitation Stupid lengthened his pace, surging forward from the power generated by his hindquarters until soon they were eating up ground at a breakneck pace. Piemur leaned in close to Stupid’s neck and stuck to the saddle tight as glue, his body moving easily to the rhythm of his mount. Encouraged by Stupid’s eagerness, Piemur egged him on to a flat-out gallop, and the runner obliged. Piemur could hear the wind whizzing past his ears, obliterating all other sound. Farli flew beside them, making use of the offshore wind to help her maintain her speed. Riding a-dragonback was the only other thing Piemur knew of where the sheer speed and thrill of movement were so utterly exhilarating.

  He galloped on, allowing Stupid to race across the ground as the wind whipped past them. In the near distance, Piemur could see an outcropping of large boulders that spilled out across the beach and formed a bluff that met up with the sea. He was nearly certain they’d be able to ride around the bluff, but since the water looked as if it might be deep where it met the boulders, Piemur was reluctant to race Stupid through it when he couldn’t see his footing. Runnerbeasts were sure and fleet of foot, but they could turn over in less than a quarter of a meter of water, easily getting into difficulties if they thought their footing was undermined.

  Piemur eased the pressure through his knees and squeezed on the reins so his runnerbeast would slow down. He straightened up from his forward position and gently sat back in the saddle pad as Stupid’s pace steadily slowed to an easy lope.

  “Whoa, there, Stupid,” Piemur said, pulling on the reins again. Stupid slowed from a canter to a trot and finally to a walk with a dragonlength to spare before they reached the headland. They walked onward to where the sea washed into the shore, halting just short of where the boulders jutted out, and Farli landed on Stupid’s rump while Piemur assessed the footing and the run of the water around the boulders. The long gallop had opened up Stupid’s windpipes and he blew loudly through his nostrils, stretching his head low and
sliding the reins from Piemur’s hands so he could look at the water as it lapped around his hooves.

  As they walked on at an easy pace, Piemur allowed his thoughts to come and go, enjoying his free time. He remembered the talk he’d had with Sebell, long into the night, just after Ama died. Sebell had been explaining the subtle role of a harper, a role Piemur was filling more often than he realized.

  “There’s a fine balance we have to keep, Piemur,” Sebell had said, and he spoke slowly, his tone thoughtful and solemn.

  “The stability of our way of life is everyone’s responsibility, but as harpers, as curators of our accumulated knowledge and our heritage, it is ours to oversee in particular. You know that the Weyrleaders at Benden were not pleased when the Masterharper counseled them to remain calm after Ramoth’s egg was stolen. He had to press his point even when Lessa wanted revenge, regardless of whether her feelings were justifiable or not. What purpose, do you think, would retaliation have served other than to ease the sense of violation the Benden Weyrfolk had suffered?” There was a note of entreaty in Sebell’s rich voice, and Piemur saw how hopeful his mentor was that Piemur would grasp his point.

  “The egg was returned,” Sebell continued, “and though the insult remained, the wrong was righted. Remember, my friend: All the other Weyrs look to Benden for direction and guidance, just as the smallholders rely on their Lords Holders to provide protection and stability. We harpers are the men and women who keep the balance among all the groups—all those people who make up the weights and balances on the scales of our way of life.”